


Abide

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, M/M, Rope Bondage, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once the Holmeses were involved, though...</p><p>Well.</p><p>Everything changed. And by <i>everything changed</i>, he meant that now and again he'd end up where he was now -- face down on a couch in Mycroft Holmes's sitting room, silky rope being wrapped around parts most people would consider unmentionable, blindfold on and earplugs in just... waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



It had started as all things did -- with boredom.

Not his boredom, mind. Greg was fairly easy to please when he wasn't working -- give him a good mystery novel and a soothing cuppa, and he'd pass the evening fairly satisfied with his day and mostly not fretting about the next one.

Once the Holmeses were involved, though...

Well.

Everything changed. And by _everything changed_ , he meant that now and again he'd end up where he was now -- face down on a couch in Mycroft Holmes's sitting room, silky rope being wrapped around parts most people would consider unmentionable, blindfold on and earplugs in just... waiting.

It wasn't a bad way to spend the evening. His dick was so hard he was pretty sure it was going to be stuck between the cushions for about a decade. It was all about the anticipation, about not knowing what was coming next, and with Mycroft... well. Nobody ever knew what was coming next.

Although the way the rope was wrapping about his balls said it probably wouldn't be him anytime soon.

There was no question that Mycroft got off on it. Making him beg when he couldn't even hear what he was saying properly did seem to excite him, although Greg honestly couldn't swear to it what with the sensory deprivation.

He squirmed, pressing his nose against the couch arm and trying to get a little better traction. Any traction, any friction that might give him a better clue as to what was coming next. Honestly, the thing about rope bondage wasn't just the inability to move into another position, it was also the feel of it, the steady stroke of silken rope against his skin, and yeah, some of it wasn't strictly comfortable, but...

"Oh!" That was an echo in his head, a phrase he couldn't keep from tumbling out of his mouth because slick fingers were stroking the cleft of him, working deeper with every little twitch, and that was frankly fantastic.

"Ohhh." He grunted, struggled to spread his legs in eager invitation, and it was so much damn better. It was the kind of thing that made shadowing Sherlock sometimes all worth it.

Sometimes.

At least every third Wednesday. Maybe.

Maybe, and the invitation was clearly taken because two fingers were so much better than one, fucking their way into him so that he let out a panting breath and squirmed to try and get more. More, more, more, and just because he did, the fingers pulled away, a pat on his left ass cheek faux consolation.

Mycroft was such a dick.

He groaned against the arm of the sofa,and wiggled hard, trying to at least get friction against his dick if Mycroft wasn't going to play with his ass. "*Please* fuck me."

There was no need to see the smirk. He knew it was there, and then a swat on his left check landed with a hefty sting even as another hand jerked his hip upward. That made some of the rope rub in a not-entirely-pleasant-but-not-unpleasant-either sort of way. Fucker.

"Umph, dammit, I want..." He pulled at his wrists, which made the ropes on his ankles twist and slide, tugging his balls gently on the way. If he thought Mycroft was laughing, he'd totally come up from there and... he didn't know. Not even, but then there were fingers on his balls and a thumb slid into his hole again, and god, yeah. Yeah, that was good. More of that would be better.

"Uhn, yeah, that's good, that's so, yes..." So fucking good, and he relaxed into the touch again, the feeling of thumb in his hole and two long fingers pressing just behind his balls. Steady teasing, and then a finger tweaked his left nipple hard, making him whine. Mycroft was such a goddamned tease. "Mmmhmm, more..." He wiggled a little, hoping it would get him more than lazy slow touches and tweaks.

Sometimes, he should think before he asked, even if it were only asking with his body. Those hands withdrew, leaving him with nothing but air, the fucker. Every wiggle ended with a short touch, a tug that pulled him back into place until he was sweating and snarling, even if he couldn't hear himself aside from the echo in his head.

It was just endless, until he felt like he was on waves, loose and taut at the same moment, his dick aching as much as his back, as much as his everything, and then he felt the shift in the air around him, and skin. Warmth, Mycroft solid, the heated line of his naked body curving against Greg's so that he moaned.

He liked the weight of him, the pressure of his body solid against Greg's back, the shift of muscle and bone, and no dick in him yet but it felt good, pressing him against the couch. It felt real, and it didn't matter if his hands were starting to go numb. He didn't think it mattered, anyway, and then Mycroft was rubbing feeling back into them, loosening the bindings.

Just enough that he could feel his fingers, but he could't get free. He stretched and squirmed, and Mycroft dug in against his hips. "Oh, mmmmph, please, Mycroft..." Please, which got him nothing but a slow, steady push of hips, dick sliding gently between the cheeks of his ass. Teasing bastard, seriously, he was going to have words with him after this. Serious words. The kind of... ungh.

He shifted his thighs, spreading them and trying not to squirm too much to beg, because Mycroft rewarded patience not begging. He could manage that, could squeeze out a few more moments of patience, and he sighed, let himself relax. That seemed to be what it took, because ngh. Yes.

The slow steady push of dick into his ass, and Greg sighed against the sofa arm, and tried to lift his ass up to Mycroft to get a little more. Just a little more, and a little, and god, yeah. That was fantastic, and the groan that spilled out of him was something he felt in his chest, heard in the echoing of his head even if he couldn't hear anything else.

Mycroft was in deep, and every time he pulled at his hands, his legs, he felt the slide of ropes against skin, and the weight of Mycroft against him as the man slowly, teasingly started to fuck him. It was metronome steady in a way some might consider dispassionate, autonomic, but he knew better. Could feel the tremor in Mycroft's hand, in ever steady screwing thrust that pushed into him.

He was struggling to maintain his composure, struggling to stay in control, and that tremor was a thrill, almost as much as being tied up. "Fuck me, please, Mycroft..." Please, and something about that seemed to be enough. It was all it took, and then Mycroft slammed into him, hard, rough, losing that steady solidity, and Greg yelled because fuck, that was good.

That made his balls ache, made him want more, made him want to come and made him want Mycroft to fuck him forever. He could tell when that metronome fuck started to stutter a bit, knew Mycroft was on the verge, and it made him desperate, made him moan and try to spread his legs even knowing that he couldn't. The sudden pluck of his nipple made him shudder and yell.

"Please, please let me come, Mycroft, please, I want to feel it, I want to feel you...." He wanted to move, he wanted to do more than squirm and buck, wanted everything, and Mycroft's hands were on him, fumbling at the ropes, and then his dick was free, being stroked with rough precision in time with each pushing thrust, and it was fucking maddening, but it felt like an explosion of blood into his cock, a relief and a frantic need for more friction, the warm clutch of Mycroft's hand counterpoint to his thrusts starting to fall out of pace from each other quickly. He was close, so close, and Mycroft shifted, got leverage, thrust into him just _so_ , and he was done.

He made a noise, get it in his chest and his stomach more than anything, and he came against the sofa, into long fingers wrapped around his dick, and Mycroft stutter thrust into him before resting heavy against his back. 

Bliss.

Bliss, and he melted into the cushions, panting to catch his breath in the dark and silence of his own pleasure, resting as Mycroft moved around him, settled him with strokes of his hands, the removal of rope in slow, gentle movements.

He didn't have to, not really. The ropes felt comfortable, secure, but so did Mycroft's arms as he settled back on top of him.


End file.
